December

Matt and I were able to travel to Belgium and the Netherlands during the first half of the month. In an attempt to busy ourselves on December 5th, we found ourselves over the Atlantic, in exotic Iceland and then in Brussels in the warm embrace of dear friends. I was aware of the hours as the time ticked by, trying to adjust for time changes and remembering the what and the when.

When we fell in love over twenty-two years ago, we both had a passion for travel. It became a priority for us to explore the world together. And thankfully we were able to share that passion with Waverly and Oliver. Sanfilippo certainly constrained our ability to travel, but it did not squash it. Even though our destinations slowly narrowed and grew closer to home, experiencing different places was a favorite pastime. 

As we began trip planning, it was obvious that I tend to want to revisit special places while Matt wants to make new memories. So we chose two new countries to add to our list. I was apprehensive because when I am in the throes of grief, I feel the need to grasp onto something, to ground myself. I worried that being in unfamiliar places I would flounder. Thankfully we were planning on visiting friends and their presence bolstered me.

I seek symbols of lament when I travel. It is a way to find comfort in the rich cultural history of grieving. We certainly don't have the rituals or symbols anymore in most households within the United States. Grief is to be done behind closed doors. Within faith communities, there is all too often a quick leap from mourning to hope. I am passionate about rediscovering historical norms in grief.

It was therefore joyous to see art that depicted death. The painting below by van den Tempel captivated me. Not solely because of the lovely family, but because of the child on the far right. Naked and held close by the mother, this child is dead. Traditionally, children who had died were painted into family portraits, naked to signify their purity in heaven. I love this idea! Not forgotten. Remembered. 

A friend told me to see the Madonna of Bruges. So on a rainy night, as we wandered the quaint streets, we found the Church of Our Lady Bruges. We paid a small admission fee and explored the radiated chapels and transept. And then we found her - Michelangelo's Pieta. I was moved to tears. This mother, attempting to hold onto her son who is trying to move away from her grasp. We lit a candle and said a prayer.

We arrived home exhausted, but grateful to be back in our home. We bought a tree, so late in the season, we had only a few trees to choose from. Thankfully, we found a lovely fir and our house was soon filled with the scent of pine and the twinkle of lights. Inspired by all of the creativity we experienced on our trip, I decided to make ornaments using dried flowers from Oliver's funeral. They have been hanging in our garage for over a year and I decided it was time to break them down into something beautiful. Each globe is filled with different types of eucalyptus and other greenery, plus a purple thistle. They turned out beautifully. I have been happy to share them with people who stepped into our lives and loved Oliver well.

Christmas is over. We survived. We had friends and family invite us to various celebrations. We stepped back into some traditions and ignored others. We managed. We have two difficult days looming on the calendar. Oliver's birthday is on the thirtieth and the new year is mere days away. Like most people experiencing grief, the new year brings another reminder of time passing away. Our loved ones are another year removed. We have to reach back farther to access photos and memories.

To my fellow lamenters, I see you. I understand the heartache and the forced smiles. I am thankful for another holiday season where we have been able to see glimpses of joy and hope while holding our sorrow close to our hearts.